


Talk

by devera



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2018-11-11 15:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/pseuds/devera
Summary: Leonardo likes to talk, but Ezio's learning effective ways of shutting him up.





	Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me how they got here, or why. That's for reality, and I am not down with that.

Leonardo likes to talk. Ezio had said it, but God in Heaven he hadn't meant like _this_.  
  
"Do you have any idea?" Leonardo is saying, his fingertips lingering on Ezio's skin, tracing the hollows in Ezio's shoulders, his throat, coaxing his head back with little more than a gentle push, and his eyes are not focused on Ezio, like he is not entirely present, but thinking of something else. "How perfect you are? How well formed? I could study you all day, and still discover something fascinating."  
  
Ezio closes his eyes and swallows. For a moment, he thinks of the bodies he glimpsed past the curtain in Leonardo's back room, lying prone and vulnerable with their skin peeled back carefully to reveal the ugly secrets beneath, and shivers. There is no violence in it, no force. Leonardo does not need force; it is the focus of his passion that has that effect and Ezio, like those poor dead, would willingly reveal everything under Leonardo's questing hands.  
  
That is the danger, Ezio knows, and yet he cannot seem to stop himself. His mouth returns Leonardo's kisses, and his body arches into Leonardo's touch. His pulse flutters when Leonardo laughs, his voice low and warm, and his legs part to the press of Leonardo's thighs. His arms hold Leonardo close, clutching at surprisingly broad shoulders, his hands grasp.  
  
"Had I known you were… merely interested in a model," he manages, caring little how convincing he sounds at this point, "I would have hired one for you."  
  
"A model?" Leonardo repeats, and now he is entirely present, staring into Ezio's face, smiling, flushed, and Ezio almost groans because he knows that look and it is trouble. "But I have the perfect subject right here, or have you not been listening to what I have been saying? Again?"  
  
"I always listen!" Ezio protests, gasping as Leonardo's hand skates down the planes of his stomach to where his member lies hot and hard against his abdomen. His fingers, sure and strong, fold around him and Ezio grits his teeth for a moment against the desire that surges up against the walls of his control. "A feat worthy of praise, given that you talk _far too much_ , Leonardo. Do not make me beg."  
  
"Beg?" Leonardo repeats, laughter in his voice. "Now, there is something I might like to hear. Yes, I should like to see that very much. But, you are right. I talk a lot when I find something interesting to talk about. It is remiss of me, inconsiderate, to forget that some people are less comfortable with words and far more accustomed to action."  
  
What is inconsiderate, Ezio wants to say, is that Leonardo should have him taken him this far, stripped bare and spread out on his couch, and yet refuse to take him further. But the words choke in his throat as Leonardo's grip slides up Ezio's length and his thumb presses underneath the sensitive glans and the only thing he utters is a thankful groan.  
  
"Perhaps we can reach a compromise, then, dear Ezio?" Leonardo is suggesting, and at this point, Ezio would agree to anything. "Would that suffice?"  
  
Ezio groans again, this time in frustration when Leonardo releases him, lifts his head to blink at him through the haze of his arousal.  
  
"Leo? What…"  
  
Leonardo smiles at him, looking nothing like the harmless, slightly eccentric artist Ezio first thought him to be when he met him and it somehow still surprises Ezio, surprises him too that heat rises to his cheeks in response to the look in Leonardo's eyes.  
  
"Be a good boy," Leonardo says, his hand rising to push the hair back from Ezio's face in a sweet, comforting gesture at odds with that look. "And turn over for me."  
  
Ezio stares at him, his heart suddenly thudding painfully in his chest and it is not fear, he tells himself. He knows fear. And yet, he cannot for a moment make himself move. Leonardo's smile gentles, and he leans down again and presses a kiss to Ezio's slack mouth, and to his brow.  
  
"Trust me," he whispers, and it doesn't matter whether it's a question or a command; Ezio realises that he does.  
  
But that does not quell the feeling completely, even as he shifts to obey, awkwardly turning himself over on the couch and bracing on his hands and knees under Leonardo's subtle guidance.  
  
"Are you going to…" he starts, and stops again. His voice is thin, a little breathless. He has not done this before, although he knows it is something that can be done. In Florence, in another life, there were nights. Laughter, drunkenness, the touch of a friend's hand. Such things were not openly acceptable, but neither were they uncommon. But even so, some acts were less spoken of than others.  
  
And yet, the weight of Leonardo as he settles against him, his heat and the press of his skin, his mouth pressing lingeringly against Ezio's shoulder, his hand threading into Ezio's hair and pushing it back and away from his neck, exposing his vulnerable nape, even the long hot length of him against the back of Ezio's thigh; these things do not make Ezio want to throw him off.  
  
"Would you like me to?" Leonardo asks softly against the shell of Ezio's ear.  
  
Ezio shivers again, breath shuddering in his throat.  
  
"I… I've never," he starts truthfully, but then cannot seem to continue. "I don't know."  
  
"Then let's see," Leonardo says, and Ezio does not need to see his face to be able to hear his smile as he shifts to press a kiss against Ezio's nape, and then another kiss further down his spine, between his shoulder blades, the middle of his back, the hollow where his back starts sloping down to his buttocks. "Let's see what we can do to decide you."  
  
Ezio presses his face against the dusty velvet of the couch and tries to breathe, tries to force his tongue gone suddenly clumsy in his mouth to form words. "As long as you are quiet about – Ah!" He jerks away, barely able to comprehend that Leonardo just… he just…  
  
"Clean," Leonardo murmurs, and, "That is good," and his hands take firmer hold of Ezio, thumbs pressing into the taught muscles of his buttocks, and Ezio trembles and opens his mouth to tell Leonardo to stop.  
  
The words never come. The second kiss, if kiss it can even be called, robs him of the ability to speak at all. Leonardo is saying something, a low murmur of soothing sound that Ezio cannot seem to make out over the rush of blood in his ears and the harsh breathing escaping his throat and the trembling in his limbs as Leonardo's _tongue_ …  
  
"God," Ezio chokes out. " _Christ_. Leo-"  
  
"Shh," Leonardo tells him gently, pausing and Ezio can feel the gust of his breath cooling his spit on Ezio's suddenly hot skin. "Trust me. Trust me."  
  
"God," Ezio says again, raggedly, and it's the permission it seems to be. Leonardo presses a brief kiss to the curve of Ezio's backside and then his mouth is back in that place and his tongue is sliding delicately in, pressing, penetrating. Ezio's thighs seem to shift apart of their own accord and his mind goes blank in animal panic, caught between flight and wanting. He cannot get enough air, can feel the soft rasp of Leonardo's beard, the clench of his fingers, the terrifyingly soft scrape of his teeth, the slick of his tongue. He feels like he is breaking open, bit by bit to Leonardo's rhythm, feels like not just his skin but everything is peeling back, hot and shaking, exposed, excruciatingly vulnerable.  
  
And then there is pressure aside from the merciless slide of Leonardo's tongue. A small intrusion but it sinks easily, deeply, and it's almost a relief. Ezio hears his own voice moaning, feels his face burning as he shifts to accommodate that intrusion as it moves in him. But he is not prepared. It touches something, presses against it, and a fire sweeps through his body, a shocking flash of sensation that jerks him like a puppet on a string.  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
"Ahahahaha," Leonardo says brightly. "There it is."  
  
"Leo-" Ezio tries, but his voice does not seem to want to work but for the words that Leonardo seems to be able to so effortlessly force from him. "Leonardo?"  
  
There must be something else in his tone other than his need to understand what the hell that just was, for Leonardo hums and pats him on the thigh like he would a dog or an obedient child. "In a moment, I think. Now, breathe in."  
  
Ezio does as told without thinking, and the pressure of Leonardo's finger leaves him only to return increased, two fingers now, the burn of their entrance soothed by the return of Leonardo's tongue but Ezio does not think it soothing, not in the least.  
  
"Oh God," he breathes, and it's almost the prayer it sounds. "Oh God, oh God. Leonardo. Please. _Please_." He does not know what he asks for, or perhaps he does. Perhaps it is merely not him who asks, but this other man, a stranger Ezio had never known until now, who gasps and trembles and spreads himself open to display his hollow places, who _needs_ ; this man, the warmth of his attention, the affection of his smiles, the caring tones of his voice, the touch of his sure hands. And now he has it, he does not now know how he will continue without.  
  
"Ezio," Leonardo utters roughly, his fingers and tongue gone abruptly only to be replaced by the press of something far larger. "Alright. Shh. Alright. You have to relax for me."  
  
Ezio nods, and although Leonardo likely can't see the gesture, buried as it is in the crook of his arm against the couch, his body must surely communicate its willingness, because Leonardo leans over him, his member pressing against him where Leonardo's tongue forged its slick path, and for a moment Ezio thinks that this is not possible, that he cannot possibly… Then Leonardo's hand is sliding around his hips, is on him in front again, stroking, and Ezio's eyes roll back a little in his head and his hips thrust involuntarily into the caress and then back again towards the cradle of Leonardo's hips. There he meets Leonardo, his hardness, and it is pressure and resistance and some little pain as Ezio pushes back further, wanting to get it done, to be finished with this needing and not knowing. And then, he feels Leonardo's hand smooth up his spine, reassuring, and hears his voice murmur encouragement, and suddenly something gives and with a small cry Ezio's body opens itself and allows Leonardo in.  
  
For a while, he just kneels there, dazed, a little frightened if truth be told. Leonardo is flush against his back, panting softly against his skin and Ezio feels full and strange and aching and hungry, as if that cannot possibly be all, as if there is yet more and now he will discover it.  
  
"Mmm, Leonardo," he says, barely recognising his own voice.  
  
"Oh, Ezio. My beautiful Ezio," Leonardo breathes, as if he isn't quite aware of what he is saying. His free hand planes restlessly across Ezio's body, relearning its topography as if it has suddenly changed. "Ezio."  
  
"You are not… not talking, I see," Ezio jokes shakily, pushed too far past the boundaries of himself by this strange, intimate act to be able to laugh without risking the threadbare control over himself he still seems to have.  
  
"And you," Leonardo murmurs huskily, head bowed against Ezio's spine. "Are no longer begging."  
  
"Must I?" Ezio asks, and where it might have once been a challenge, it is now only a question, plain and open, and "No," Leonardo says, unusually somber, and moves.  
  
Ezio feels his mouth fall open, perhaps to reply, or merely to breathe, he cannot now recall. The thrust of Leonardo into him is a pleasure deeper than he is accustomed to, spreading heat with each slow, steady push until he feels like his entire body must be burning with it. And then Leonardo slides an arm around his torso and shifts him, and on his next thrust he brushes that place he touched before and Ezio feels himself arch like a bowstring, breath caught in his chest.  
  
"Ezio," Leonardo breathes again, a sound both sacred and profane, and his hand on Ezio's cock starts moving in counterpoint and something wild and dangerous bursts behind Ezio's eyes.  
  
"Harder!" he gasps and hears Leonardo moan harshly against the back of his neck, feels his mouth open and his teeth graze his skin and the next thrust is rough enough to jerk Ezio bodily forward across the couch, send him scrabbling for more stable purchase and it's right, it's so right. He wants more, he wants it all. "More. Harder, Leonardo. Christ. Fuck me."  
  
No woman has ever said such to him, and no woman, Ezio thinks dazedly, could take the next brutal thrust of Leonardo's hips, or the next and the next, but Ezio pushes back to meet them gladly, with a kind of violent joy. They force air out of his lungs, force moans and gasps and senseless words and curses and pleas past his lips. Pleasure arcs up his spine and his fingers grip the edge of the couch hard enough to turn his knuckles white and he wants it to stop, and to never stop, wants to be in Leonardo's arms like this unto death, thinks that if it doesn't stop soon he probably _will_ die.  
  
And then Leonardo curls over him, his free hand returning to brush the hair away from Ezio's neck and it _trembles_ and Ezio thinks, realises, _he needs this, he needs me_. It shouldn't be a revelation when they are so intimately, so sinfully joined, but it is. The way Leonardo's mouth presses desperately against his nape, the soft sound of his groans and the ragged gust of his breath across Ezio's skin - he is not as in control as Ezio thought, and the understanding is suddenly heady, suddenly dizzying and wonderful, almost overwhelming. He shakes with it, hears himself gasping out Leonardo's name. Leonardo's teeth scrap his nape again and sink in, muffling the desperate groan of Ezio's name in return, and his hand on Ezio grips, pulls tight and hot, and abruptly flings Ezio shuddering into intense release.  
  
Soon after - although perhaps not as soon as that after all - collapsed half off the couch, cheek pressed into the edge, Leonardo's damp, panting weight on his back still pinning him down, Ezio stares blearily at the pile of drawings and papers some several feet away. It is a familiar sight, the room is familiar. Everything is still the same, and if he had enough energy he'd laugh at himself for somehow thinking it wouldn't be. Less familiar is the feel of Leonardo's lips returned to the nape of his neck, kissing carefully where Ezio feels the dull ache of bruising, but it is not unpleasant, not at all. He shivers, almost happy in this moment, and strangely, beautifully, Leonardo laughs softly, and then shifts, sliding wetly out of Ezio and pulling on his shoulder only to turn him over and collapse against him once more. Thus on his back with nowhere to hide, Ezio must look, and he sees that is familiar also, Leonardo's bright, keen eyes on him like they've always been.  
  
Of course, even more familiar is the presence of the clearly unrepentant grin that Leonardo is giving him.  
  
"Well," Leonardo says finally, cheerfully. "We made a brilliant mess of the couch."  
  
"Yes, I know," Ezio agrees dryly, eying Leonardo with something that might have been disapproval at any other time. "I'm lying on it."  
  
Leonardo shrugs a little and smiles and folds his arms across Ezio's chest. "I never did like it much. Gift from a patron. More money than taste, to be very honest." He looks smug. Ezio doesn’t think it's because of the couch.  
  
"Really," he responds, but he can feel his mouth curving into a smile he can't seem to school away. "Then I'm glad I gave you cause to ruin it."  
  
"A small sacrifice for a greater good," Leonardo grins; well, actually, leers. "The very, _very_ good," and inexplicably, Ezio blushes. Leonardo just laughs again. It's still a beautiful sound, even if Ezio is like to smack him for it. If he could be bothered moving. "And, should we be so inclined at a later point, I also have a very unattractive bedspread I suspect you help could improve immensely."  
  
Ezio blushes again, but the idea, he has to admit, is not as unappealing as he might have thought. Surely the small problem of Leonardo's bed being all the way upstairs is something Ezio, assassin and strategist, can work out a way to overcome. And if not, then perhaps Leonardo's genius might come up with a solution. Given the proper incentive.  
  
An incentive Ezio thinks will probably be necessary very shortly, since Leonardo's earlier – although perhaps relative - silence seems to have come to an end.  
  
"But first, I think some food is in order, don't you? You know, I've been working on this means of preserving food, like, like an above ground cellar!"  
  
"Above ground," Ezio repeats blankly.  
  
"Only smaller than a cellar. I've been thinking, what is it that causes food to spoil?" He doesn't wait for Ezio to guess. "Time, of course. Climate. Obviously, some things keep longer than others, say, if meat is salted. But, it seems to me that air also plays a part. And I thought, what if I could control the air itself? I mean, not use it, as the flying machines I've been building do, but actually regulate its flow and temperature _inside_ something. It would have to be something air could not escape from, nor get into, but! And then there would have to be some kind of-"  
  
Leonardo actually stops. Perhaps it has somewhat to do with the quick, close-lipped press of Ezio's mouth on his.  
  
"Ezio," he says then, sighing, and smiles.  
  
Ezio smiles back. "You are talking again, Maestro. Do I also need to start begging? You mentioned a bedspread that could use some attention. And we will need food. And perhaps a bath, should you want to kiss me again any time soon."  
  
Leonardo blinks, and then blushes a little himself and smiles again.  
  
"Ah," he says, his eyes gone darker on Ezio's face, his attention focused again. "No need to beg, Ezio. At least, not unless you want to?"  
  
Ezio laughs at the hopeful look on Leonardo's face and promptly deposits him on his naked arse on the floor with a small shove and a twist of his hips. He is sore in places he had not thought to ever be sore, his muscles ache, but pleasantly, and there is the discomforting matter of Leonardo's issue slowly dribbling out of him when he goes to sit up, but all things considered, he does in fact want to.  
  
Anything, of course, to shut Leonardo up.


End file.
